


Family Tree

by Million_Moments



Series: Harry verse [7]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Angst, Back to Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Future Fic, Humor, Who Do You Think You Are?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry comes home with a school project that forces Camille to take an interest in the Bordey side of the family at last. Next in the ‘Harry Verse’ series after “Baby 2”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Tree

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT ASK ME WHERE THIS CAME FROM!
> 
> My laptop died and we have been parted for a long time. Meanwhile I was typing fic on an old netbook that I couldn’t get to connect to the internet. So if you are wondering why there was silence followed by a glut of updates, well that is why.

When Harry started school, it was made clear to him by the other boys in his class, that the fact that his parents were police officers was ‘cool’. Richard rather wished this wasn’t the case, as the ideas that some five year olds apparently had about what the average day in the life of a police officer was like were, quite frankly, absurd and probably borne from movies or televisions shows that five year olds shouldn’t really be watching.

As a consequence, Richard and Camille had had to endure hours of questions such as ‘have you ever shot anybody?’, ‘Have you been shot?’ and ‘have you ever commandeered the use of a vehicle for police business?’ Largely, they avoided answering the questions – both of them felt there was potential to scare Harry if he learned his mother had actually been shot twice during the course of her career. Richard had been suitably impressed by Harry using the word “commandeered” though to tell him about the time as a uniformed constable he had “borrowed” a Porsche in order to pursue a suspect. Camille had also been quite entertained by the story – though she had enjoyed the one about Richard’s appropriation of a horse in Richmond Park in order to catch up with a mugger escaping on a bike more. Harry had informed him rather firmly that commandeering a horse was not, in fact, ‘cool’.

One day, Harry came home from school absolutely delighted. He had found out they were going to do family trees in class, and his teachers had asked him and his fellow classmates to find out more about their families. Camille was a little horrified that a child so young would be given what she viewed to be homework, but in Richard’s opinion it was just a project for the kids to get excited about. When he got back from work (Camille still being on her six months maternity leave), Harry had proudly showed him what they had started in class. Richard could see from the childish handwriting that Harry had managed to write his own name, and that of his little sister’s, and then the teacher must have filled in Richard and Camille’s names. He was a little bemused to find their ranks written on there as well. When he mentioned it to Camille, she had laughed at said that Harry’s teacher had approached her when she went to collect him from school, and informed her that Harry had _insisted_ that the police ranks be included on the nascent family tree.

 

* * *

 

 

Though in recent years it had become popular to trace ones ancestors, Richard Poole had known the insides and outs of his family tree long before that trend came along. What more could you expect from a history graduate? Richard was not, in fact, the first person to study history in the family. Far from it, his own Grandfather Austin Poole had been a Professor of Medieval History at Oxford University. If he had been alive when Richard graduated, perhaps his support would have been enough to overcome his father’s doubts and enable Richard to pursue a career in academia. His great-great Grandfather, Reginald Poole, was Professor of Archaeology at Cambridge University.  When, that weekend, Richard began to enthusiastically tell Harry about the research his two ancestors had done – he could not get the boy interested. If there was any genetic disposition for being interested in history, it would appear to definitely skip a generation.  Well, Richard supposed his father would be pleased Harry was interested in “practical things”.

 

* * *

 

 

Catherine came over on Sunday to lavish attention on her grandchildren. She listened patiently to Harry ramble on in the hybrid of French and English he adopted when both Catherine and Richard were present – a habit he and Camille could not get him to break so desperate was he to please his grandmother by speaking French but include his father by talking in English. Alexandra was receiving many cuddles and would bestow sudden, bright smiles upon them all.

The current topic of conversation was what Harry had been up to at school, and Harry had told Catherine about his family tree project. He had been rewarded with a story about Catherine’s own mother, and how even though she was just a young girl she had become involved in the French Resistance during the Second World War. Richard was a little disappointed the conversation was in French, his skills in that particular language were vastly improved from when he arrived on the island but he still found the story difficult to follow, and it sounded really quite interesting. He believed it involved blowing up railway lines, but hoped he had misheard the bit about the seduction of young, impressionable German officers. Harry might now know where babies came from, but Richard would rather not get a question later asking him to explain what seduction was.

Richard should have seen it coming really. In fact, when Harry asked, “Mummy, where is your Daddy?” – Richard’s first thought was that he couldn’t believe they hadn’t covered this yet. Catherine’s reaction was one of sadness, whereas Camille looked conflicted, clearly unsure of how to respond. When the silence got too long, Richard decided to have a go at answering.

“Not everyone has a Mum and Dad, Harry. Like your friend Amanda, she just lives with her Mum doesn’t she?”

Ah, but he had forgotten his son was young, not stupid, “Yeah but she has a Daddy, everybody has a Dad because you need a Mummy and a Daddy to make a baby. But Amanda’s Daddy died. Is your Daddy dead?” He addressed this to Camille, who looked stricken. Catherine also looked close to tears, and the change in atmosphere was even picked up by the baby, who began to whimper. Catherine decided to use this as an excuse to escape the room, bouncing Alex on her hip as she did so and stepping out into the back garden to calm the child. Harry went wide eyed and asked, “Is it bad to ask?”

“No, Harry, no, it’s not bad to ask,” Her son’s distress finally enabled Camille to find words. “You see, sometimes when people get married even though they want it to last forever it doesn’t. And that is what happened between your Memere and your grandfather, my father. He went away when I was quite small and I don’t actually know where he is now.”

“How old were you when he went away?”

“Uh, I was 6,” Camille told him.

Harry shot his father a terrified look and cried in a near wail, “I’m 6 in 24 days!”

It took Richard a moment to cotton on, and then he rushed to reassure his son, “I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I love you, and Alexandra and your Mum; I am _not_ leaving, okay?” He picked him up and put him on his lap for a cuddle, even though he was getting quite big for such things.

Harry sniffed, and nodded, before turning his attention back to his mother, “Were you okay without a Daddy?”

“Yes, Harry, because your _Memere_ loved me lots and lots. So I was fine. It still makes _Memere_ a bit sad though, so maybe we should talk about something else?”

Harry’s response to Camille’s last request though was to scramble off Richard’s lap, run out of the door and attach himself to Catherine’s leg from where he declared, “I LOVE YOU LOTS AND LOTS!” at the top of his voice. Well, that was one way to change the topic.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Richard was woken by crying, but it was not that of his infant child. It was, to his alarm, his wife who was standing over Alex’s cot, shedding tears quietly but not so much that it hadn’t awoken him. He got out of bed and, acting on instinct, wrapped his arms around her.

“Come on, hush now, what is it?”

“Oh it’s stupid,” Camille sniffled into his shoulder.

“If something is upsetting you, it isn’t stupid,” He reassured her. When she still seemed reticent to share the reason for her tears, he prompted her, “Is this because Harry asked about your father?”

A wave of fresh sobs arrested his wife, confirming Richard’s instinct but also alarming him – he had never seen her really upset about her Father before. Richard rubbed her back in a manner that he realised was rather similar to the way he comforted Harry after a bad dream, but it seemed to work.

She pulled back a little and said, “I always knew he might ask about it, but I didn’t expect it to be _so_ hard. I know he is happy with the answers we gave him today, but in the future he might want more. Then I saw Alex and I realised, in five years time, she is going to come home from school and say she has to do her family tree and when she asks where my Father is, I will have no more information for her than I had for Harry today. I know so _very_ little about him, let alone his family. And maybe I should, if not for me, then for Harry and Alex.”

“Do you want to do your family tree? We can do your family tree!” He probably said that with a little more enthusiasm than was appropriate, so desperate was he to have something concrete he could do to help.

Camille sighed, “God it’s going to be a lot of work, isn’t it?” Richard got the feeling that she was wishing there was an easy way to just gain the knowledge without having to go to any effort. She was always very careful to give the impression that her father leaving hadn’t affected her, and perhaps she worried that this research would show that she did, in fact, care. If that was the case he knew she would never admit it, so he modified his offer.

“Look, you know, I’m quiet experienced at finding these things out. With your father’s name I should be able to at least get some information on your grandparents. Why don’t I do that, then tell you the results, and we’ll see from there, hey?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I quite like trawling through archives,” he told her sincerely.

She smiled, and he felt like he was winning, “Of course _you_ like trawling through archives. Well, his name is Frederick Bordey – I’ll double check his year of birth with _Maman,_ I’m sure she’ll know. I actually think both his parents died when he was young, pretty sure he was in a children’s home as a teenager or something similar.”

“Well I guess I’ll find out.”

She gave him a brief smile, but then her face returned to a look of worry, “Do you think Harry believed you when you told him you weren’t going to leave?”

He frowned, and then nodded, “Yeah, I do. _You_ believe I am sticking around as well, don’t you?”

“Yes!” She said emphatically, smiling up at him. He leaned down and kissed her briefly. When he pulled back, she was still smiling, and she told him, “I know I’m stuck with you.”

Camille kissed him more thoroughly then, pushing him backwards until they both ended up toppling onto the bed. She paused from her kisses to murmur against his lips, “And you’re stuck with me.”

There wasn’t much talking after that.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard might have swapped searching historical records for examining criminal ones, but the skill set was pretty similar and it took less than a week to track down information about Frederick Bordey’s parents. And boy did he have a lot of information. In fact, he would say he had too much information. He dearly, dearly wished that the only thing he had been able to find out was their names and that was it. He knew Camille was not going to be happy with the results, but unless he was willing to fake a lot of official documents (and possibly destroy a few as well), he couldn’t lie to her. So he decided to see how long he could get away with just _not_ telling her.

It turned out the answer to that question was three weeks. One night when Harry was in bed, and Alex was receiving a feed and hopefully would go back to sleep after she was finished, Camille brought the topic back up.

“Have you had a chance to look into the thing we discussed, about my father?” she asked as she shifted the baby up over her shoulder and began patting her back.

“Uh, yes, actually, perhaps we can discuss it after you’ve put Alex down,” His daughter was renowned for her refusal to burp after a feed, so he could always hope Camille got distracted and forgot her request. Unluckily for him, Alexandra gave a loud and rather un-lady like belch which her mother responded to with excited exclamations and praise. She carried her off into the bedroom, and was back in five minutes looking, well, quite eager really.

“You know I think I’ve come round to this idea a little more. I mean, obviously I am not the biggest fan of my father, but I shouldn’t – how do you say- paint the whole family with the same brush?”

“Yes,” he said, as confirmation that she had gotten the phrase correct – not that he agreed with the sentiment.

When Richard didn’t continue – largely because he was mentally reviewing how to phrase certain little revelations - she huffed, and prompted him, “So, what did you find out?”

“Well, you were right, both your Grandmother and Grandfather are deceased, and did die when your father was still a minor, so he spent his teenage years in a children’s home. Your Grandfather was called Maurice Bordey and your grandmother was called Sophia.”

At that pronouncement, Camille gave a little noise of surprise, for Sophia had actually been her first choice of name for Alexandra. “To think, we could have named the baby after my Grandmother and we wouldn’t have known we were doing so!” She exclaimed. “So how did they die? Was it some kind of accident?”

“No, they died in separate...incidents.” At the pause, Camille finally caught on to the fact he was hesitating. She probably would have done so far before now, if she wasn’t getting up three times a night to feed the baby and thus suffering from sleep deprivation.

“Richard,” she said in a warning tone. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“What do you want to know?” he said, pitifully still trying to delay the inevitable.

“Start with my Grandfather and tell me everything.”

“Well, he was actually Jamaican, but lived on Saint Marie for about ten years before he returned to Jamaica, which is where he died.”

“And how did he die?”

“He was executed.”

“WHAT?” Camille shouted, then winced and glanced towards the bedroom. Alex did not start to cry, so she continued in a softer tone. “He was executed? What for?”

“Murder,” he said simply, but the look she was giving him indicated he better give up whatever other information he had. “He, um, beat a woman to death. There was no doubt about his guilt, the police caught him at the scene covered in her blood.”

“Oh God,” Camille groaned. “Was it somebody he knew? Was it my grandmother?”

“No! No, not your grandmother! It was, um, it was a woman who was known as, um, a local prostitute.” He cringed as he saw how badly Camille was taking this information.

“Oh God, my poor Grandmother, being married to the awful man.”

“Oh they weren’t married!” Said Richard, cheerfully, at least she could take comfort in that.

However she didn’t seem pleased by the news, instead narrowing her eyes with suspicion, “What do you mean they weren’t married? At that time it would have been scandalous, surely? And how did my Grandmother die?”

He decided to tackle the last question first, “Um, the death certificate said she died of syphilis.”

Richard could see Camille making the mental connections, knew she was coming to the right conclusion, “Richard, please tell me my Grandmother wasn’t a prostitute.”

“Um, well, I’m afraid the court records I’ve come across rather imply that she was.” He should have gone down the destroying documents root, he really should have.

“This is awful!”

“Well,” Said Richard, suddenly thinking of a way he might be able to improve the situation. “If you think about it, if your grandmother _was_ a prostitute, and records indicate she was at the time she would have conceived your father, then maybe Maurice Bordey isn’t actually your grandfather!”

“Richard, are you seriously trying to comfort me by telling me that my grandfather might not be a murderer because my grandmother was definitely a prostitute!” The volume of her voice rose exponentially as she completed the sentence, leaving Richard in no doubt he had thoroughly mucked this up.

“How long have you known?” She snapped.

“About three weeks,” he admitted.

“Three weeks!” She hissed. “You’ve been holding on to this information for three weeks!”

“I...I..I didn’t know how to tell you,” He stuttered, but she just glared. “Camille, I, well I don’t feel any differently about you because of this, it has nothing to do with who you are. But I was worried that _you_ might feel differently about yourself.”

She stared at him and then suddenly, inexplicably, burst into laughter. It was, in fact, hysterics, and she was soon wiping tears away. Richard was entirely clueless as to what was happening, so just sat back and waited for the giggling to subside.

“Oh Richard, it’s just, I cannot for the life of me think of worse example of what you might have found. It seems almost impossible,” she gasped, wiping her eyes dry on her sleeve.  

“Well I could have discovered we were actually cousins,” he said, and this time she was smiling because of him.

“Oh God, we can’t tell my mother this,” she said firmly. “And we DEFINATELY are not telling Harry his Great-Grandfather was a murderer.”

“My Great-Grandfather was a _murderer!_ ” exclaimed an excited voice from behind them. “That is _so cool_!” Richard and Camille whipped their heads round to find their son had entered the living room.

“Harry, what are you doing out of bed?” Richard asked, exasperated.

“I heard voices, and I wanted some water,” Harry managed to instantly change his expression from one of gleeful joy to one of painful innocence, and it worked entirely on Richard, who stood up to go fetch the requested water.

Camille held up a hand to stop him, she was slightly more immune to Harry’s charms, “That doesn’t mean you can eavesdrop on people, Harry. That is very naughty.”

“Sorry,” the boy muttered, looking appropriately chastised.

“Ok, go back to bed and we’ll bring in a glass of water for you,” Camille instructed. Harry hesitated though, and Camille sighed, “What is it?”

“Was he _really_ a murderer?” Harry asked.

Camille shot Richard a look, but he just shrugged – he felt this was a decision she got to make. With another sigh, Camille said, “Yes, but we’ll talk about it in the morning ok?”

Harry did a little dance, and then ran off down the hallway squealing, “I bet none of the other kids have police officers _and_ murderers in their family tree!”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I was going to have Richard have a bunch of murderers, pillagers and down-right good for nothing sorts in his family tree – which Camille then teases him endlessly about. I changed it round because I liked the idea of Richard on occasion still messing things up when it comes to emotions. He is, after all, Richard. 
> 
> On another note, I typed “Poole” into Wikipedia to try and find some interesting people named Poole who I could make Richard’s ancestors, and when I discovered a long line of Poole historians I couldn’t help but use it in the story!


End file.
